Well, a massive shit storm blew over the Arthur C. Clarke Award yesterday, following a post of Christopher Priest's blog. Christopher Priest, famous in genre circles in particular as author of The Prestige, which was superbly adapted in 2006 by Christopher Nolan (he of Inception and Batman Begins/ Dark Knight fame), wrote a scathing attack on the shortlist and judging of the Clarke Award.
Go on, go read it.
Yes, the Clarke Award's shortlist has been universally responded to with a hearty 'meh' across the blogosphere, but so what? Embassytown is by no means China Miéville's best work, though is still excellent - Priest is correct in part with his criticism of 'nonce' words used in the book. I gave it a four star review over on Fantasy Faction when it came out. I regret that I haven't read any of the other five books, though I will almost certainly get around to doing so. However, the blogging world doesn't give rave reviews to any. Greg Bear's Hull Zero Three is typical Bear, another spaceship book from an author who probably peaked with the superd Blood Music, and is trying to recapture that magic. Sheri Tepper's The Water's Rising seems to fall in a similar camp, and reviews often define it as fantasy rather than SF (though where that difference lies is debatable). Charlie Stross is often criticised for his irritating prose style, though to call him an 'internet puppy' is perhaps too far. His Rule 34 doesn't seem to be an exception. Drew Magery's The Postmortal / The End Specialist seems a beacon of hope, yet hasn't recieved massive praise. Finally Jane Roger's The Testament of Jessie Lamb, longlisted for the Booker prize, seems to have been met with nods of the head, and a satisfied air, as opposed to the rest of the shortlist.
Bear, Tepper and Miéville were, in my opinion, bound to get nominations. They were big name authors, writing big name books. Roger was well praised, and seems a good debut into genre fiction. But yes, the shortlist is slightly uninspiring, but that does not give anyone call to roundly abuse the judging process, judges themselves or the award. Award shortlists provoke discussion, no matter what awar they are. The Booker, the Orange, the Costa, the BSFA, the Hugo, the Nebula. You name it, there will be debate, there will be arguments, there will be confrontation. But, and this is a big but, people respect the judges. They may disagree, but they disagree with the utmost respect.
The 'modest' suggestion that Priest puts forward, the 5 part plan, is, to put it plainly, a disgusting personal attack on what the award considers its best option. The Clarke may be wrong, and perhaps even is wrong in its discussion of what ought to be on the shortlist. But, that does not excuse such a vitriolic attack. I have lost respect for Priest.
That is not to say that SF awards don't need critiquing, or awards in general. They do, but they need an intelligence applied to them that Priest, someone with a vast modicum of said intelligence has, and throws out of the window in this attack. His attacks on Mar Billingham, with whom he shared a stage at the Oxford Literary Festival, are beyond the pale. A commenter on the OF blog (linked to below) said "There really is no requirement that all criticism be balanced or politely worded". That may be the case, but you'll gain a damn site more of my respect by doing so.
Links:
Clarke Award 2012 Shortlist
Christopher Priest's Original Post
Guardian Coverage
The excellent OF Blog's coverage
Pat's Fantasy Hotlist's Coverage
John Scalzi's lovely comment
A great, intelligent commentary by Damien G walter, comparing Priest to Leavis
Friday, 30 March 2012
Sunday, 11 December 2011
The Week Just Gone
Well well well, lookee here, a review of the week. I hope to do this on a weekly basis, probably on a Sunday or a Monday - it will contain my random thoughts on the books I'm reading (with spoilers clearly stated), prettyful links, anecdotes and other random loveliness.
5/12/2011-11/12/2011:
This week has been eventful to say the least. I started three books, got one signed, subsequently lost it on the bus and went to a Steampunk evening. Oh, and I started blogging.
Bookwise, I'm reading The Light Fantastic by Terry Pratchett, Summer Knight by Jim Dresden and The Scar by China Mieville. Somewhat surprisingly only one of those is a re-read, The Scar. Having never read any Pratchett (I know, I know), I read The Colour of Magic in November and loved it, and decided to enjoy myself and occupy my OCD-brain by reading the lot in order. Surely it makes more sense that way? Summer Knight is book 4 of The Dresden Files (warning, contains spoilers), a series I started in August, and is equally wonderful. I'd recommend a look to anyone interested in genre fiction - simply summed up, its like Harry Potter in America for adults, and as such is a bit grittier. The series currently stands at 13, and doesn't seem like it will stop soon.
My tale of The Scar is a sad tale, full of woe and tears. I went to the lovely Steampunk Evening at Blackwell's, and met China Mieville there (detailed below). He was kind enough to sign my dog-eared and well read The Scar. Personalized. To me. With some French words and mention of tentacles in it. It was amazing. I had it for all of 12 hours. The next morning, I took the number 68 from Denmark Hill (where I live) toward university at the Strand. At Camberwell Green we had to get off, and get on the bus in front. The books stayed behind, having fallen out of my coat pocket (yes, I like to carry my books around in my pockets. I got on, we started going, I realised I'd left it behind. I got sad, upset, angry. A seminar on Language in Time just wasn't going to cut it. I got off at Elephant & Castle, and checked 5 68 busses in a row - 30 minutes of wasted time - before going back to the bus garage, and checking whether it had been handed in. No luck. Rang again later. No luck. So went my book :(.
Because I'm contrary (and much prefer Mieville's old cover art), I have bought an old copy of it off Amazon (despite being a massive advocate of a real bookshop, and real books). I will have a period of mourning until it comes into my pigeonhole at university halls, and I shall start to wear bright colours again. But until then, I'm the Man in Black.
On the subject of the Steampunk evening, which I've already blogged about, there have been myriad response to it (thanks to the previously unknown wonder of twitter): @CTD did this lovely visual take on events, Sarah McIntyre (@Jabberworks) wrote this and Rhys (@fictionthirst) wrote up about the Philip reeve event at Foyles before as well. Have a read.
Elsewhere:
this youtube clip is very cool
Gollancz are offering all kinds of goodies (Direct Link)
and Skyrim is officially awesome
Oh, and I LOVE the cover art for Railsea:
For next week's show, I shall have many more links and things, but I'm a tad useless at pre-planning, so only small amounts this time round.
5/12/2011-11/12/2011:
This week has been eventful to say the least. I started three books, got one signed, subsequently lost it on the bus and went to a Steampunk evening. Oh, and I started blogging.
Bookwise, I'm reading The Light Fantastic by Terry Pratchett, Summer Knight by Jim Dresden and The Scar by China Mieville. Somewhat surprisingly only one of those is a re-read, The Scar. Having never read any Pratchett (I know, I know), I read The Colour of Magic in November and loved it, and decided to enjoy myself and occupy my OCD-brain by reading the lot in order. Surely it makes more sense that way? Summer Knight is book 4 of The Dresden Files (warning, contains spoilers), a series I started in August, and is equally wonderful. I'd recommend a look to anyone interested in genre fiction - simply summed up, its like Harry Potter in America for adults, and as such is a bit grittier. The series currently stands at 13, and doesn't seem like it will stop soon.
My tale of The Scar is a sad tale, full of woe and tears. I went to the lovely Steampunk Evening at Blackwell's, and met China Mieville there (detailed below). He was kind enough to sign my dog-eared and well read The Scar. Personalized. To me. With some French words and mention of tentacles in it. It was amazing. I had it for all of 12 hours. The next morning, I took the number 68 from Denmark Hill (where I live) toward university at the Strand. At Camberwell Green we had to get off, and get on the bus in front. The books stayed behind, having fallen out of my coat pocket (yes, I like to carry my books around in my pockets. I got on, we started going, I realised I'd left it behind. I got sad, upset, angry. A seminar on Language in Time just wasn't going to cut it. I got off at Elephant & Castle, and checked 5 68 busses in a row - 30 minutes of wasted time - before going back to the bus garage, and checking whether it had been handed in. No luck. Rang again later. No luck. So went my book :(.
Because I'm contrary (and much prefer Mieville's old cover art), I have bought an old copy of it off Amazon (despite being a massive advocate of a real bookshop, and real books). I will have a period of mourning until it comes into my pigeonhole at university halls, and I shall start to wear bright colours again. But until then, I'm the Man in Black.
On the subject of the Steampunk evening, which I've already blogged about, there have been myriad response to it (thanks to the previously unknown wonder of twitter): @CTD did this lovely visual take on events, Sarah McIntyre (@Jabberworks) wrote this and Rhys (@fictionthirst) wrote up about the Philip reeve event at Foyles before as well. Have a read.
Elsewhere:
this youtube clip is very cool
Gollancz are offering all kinds of goodies (Direct Link)
and Skyrim is officially awesome
Oh, and I LOVE the cover art for Railsea:
For next week's show, I shall have many more links and things, but I'm a tad useless at pre-planning, so only small amounts this time round.
Friday, 9 December 2011
An evening of Steampunk, or, the eccentric world of a Genre Meet
I went to a genre meet! Yay me! One of the perks fo living in London is wonderfully fun, slightly wacky evening like this, Pornokitsch's steampunk evening at Blackwell Charing Cross.
I meandered my way across town, from splendid Camberwell, to a really quite large gathering of people at the back of the Charing Cross branch, oddly situatred amongst Law and Economics textbooks. Arriving just in time for speeches from Jared, one half of Pornokitsch, and guest speaker Adam Roberts (who, alongside China Mieville, mentioned earlier, seems scarily intelligent). After hearing about rum, bad jokes and Lukacsian readings of Victorin Historicism, it was time to mingle and chat all things genre and Steampunk. Which, it turns out, is slightly nervewracking when you're in a room full of random strangers you've never met before.
Now, this is the first post of a new blog, so you might as well get to know me. I normally don't shy away from chatting to random strangers. From the bloke at the supermarket to my Literary Theory seminar at uni, to the lady who dropped her Oyster on the Tube, I'm happy to make conversation and espouse my own views wherever, whenever. However, to the SFF event newbie, it was truly intimidating to be faced with the well connected circles of knowledge, through the blogosphere and Twitter, that ensued. Plus, God (AKA China Mieville) was a few steps away.
I pottered about a bit, listening in on conversations, knocking over the Christmas Tree, and generally feeling like a fool. I knew nobody, nobody knew me. I wasn't dressed in a fun costume, nor do I have a splendid moustache. There were circles of people, and author's who I had heard of, and whose books I had read! Argh, I nearly upped and left then.
Luckily, there was rum.
A few rum-and-coke's later (quick thumbs up to Kraken Rum, sponsors of the event, for their splendid concoction, tasty both neat and with Coke...) and I plucked up the bravery to talk. Not to anybody even on a slight scale of famousness mind you, but the nice lady who smiled at me. She turned out to be stood next another nice lady, who had stepped on that sliding scale of geek-famousness (where Gaiman is top and I am bottom) - the truly lovely Sarah McIntyre. In fact, after a quick chat about my love of all things Mieville, and my tongue-tied nervousness of talking to him, she whisked me off to talk to 'one of her best friends', Philip Reeve.
Who, by the way, is the picture of upper-middle-class lovliness, and seems to embody everything I'd imagine an Oxbridge Don of the late 70's would be, even down to the suit he wore to the evening. He was lovely, and a quick chat later, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. I stopped to talk to Rhys of Thirst for Fiction (whom I deeply admire, for his contacts/achievements relative to his age) and be recommended to write this very blog, before gathering all my bravery, and setting off in China's direction.
God awaited me, hemmed in by fans, in the corner by the staff room. He couldn't escape, and, as I neared, nor could I.With my voice having failed me, but standing 3 feet away, Sarah once again came to my rescue, introducing me with a touch of embarrassment as someone 'who was too nervous to talk to you'.
Mr Mieville was, of course, a delight. There was no reason to doubt it, I guess. Like Roberts, he is scarily intelligent. I listened to him talk, without a trace of bitterness, about his creative process, his 'inspirations' and his 'daily routine', questions he's probably been asked a million times. Google them, they're there. We ended up chatting Blade Runner, Director's Cut versus not, and the Sapir-Whorf hypotheses in relation to his latest novel, Embasseytown (beware a sad looking Jimmy Wales in this Wikipedia link). he signed my dog-eared and tatty The Scar, and even had the kindness to get his photo taken with me. Looking badass. Him, not me.
Having had the highlight of my evening served to me on a plate, font-of-all-contacts-Sarah hurried me to Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell, the ridiculously wonderful authors of the Edge Chronicles. We chatted how they write, how they met, why they do what they do. And very interesting they were too. Before I wandered off, to take my lonely 68 bus home, I took this beautiful photo of Philip Reeves, Chris, Paul, Deadly Knitshade and others with the rather delightful Plarchie the Squid, one of the other incumbents of the steampunk evening.
All in all, it was a welcoming, wonderful start to life as a fully fledged fan, going beyond merely reading the books. Long may it last.
 |
| Strangers. Moustache optional. |
Now, this is the first post of a new blog, so you might as well get to know me. I normally don't shy away from chatting to random strangers. From the bloke at the supermarket to my Literary Theory seminar at uni, to the lady who dropped her Oyster on the Tube, I'm happy to make conversation and espouse my own views wherever, whenever. However, to the SFF event newbie, it was truly intimidating to be faced with the well connected circles of knowledge, through the blogosphere and Twitter, that ensued. Plus, God (AKA China Mieville) was a few steps away.
I pottered about a bit, listening in on conversations, knocking over the Christmas Tree, and generally feeling like a fool. I knew nobody, nobody knew me. I wasn't dressed in a fun costume, nor do I have a splendid moustache. There were circles of people, and author's who I had heard of, and whose books I had read! Argh, I nearly upped and left then.
Luckily, there was rum.
A few rum-and-coke's later (quick thumbs up to Kraken Rum, sponsors of the event, for their splendid concoction, tasty both neat and with Coke...) and I plucked up the bravery to talk. Not to anybody even on a slight scale of famousness mind you, but the nice lady who smiled at me. She turned out to be stood next another nice lady, who had stepped on that sliding scale of geek-famousness (where Gaiman is top and I am bottom) - the truly lovely Sarah McIntyre. In fact, after a quick chat about my love of all things Mieville, and my tongue-tied nervousness of talking to him, she whisked me off to talk to 'one of her best friends', Philip Reeve.
 |
| Also available in front view... |
God awaited me, hemmed in by fans, in the corner by the staff room. He couldn't escape, and, as I neared, nor could I.With my voice having failed me, but standing 3 feet away, Sarah once again came to my rescue, introducing me with a touch of embarrassment as someone 'who was too nervous to talk to you'.
Mr Mieville was, of course, a delight. There was no reason to doubt it, I guess. Like Roberts, he is scarily intelligent. I listened to him talk, without a trace of bitterness, about his creative process, his 'inspirations' and his 'daily routine', questions he's probably been asked a million times. Google them, they're there. We ended up chatting Blade Runner, Director's Cut versus not, and the Sapir-Whorf hypotheses in relation to his latest novel, Embasseytown (beware a sad looking Jimmy Wales in this Wikipedia link). he signed my dog-eared and tatty The Scar, and even had the kindness to get his photo taken with me. Looking badass. Him, not me.
 |
| See? Badass. |
Having had the highlight of my evening served to me on a plate, font-of-all-contacts-Sarah hurried me to Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell, the ridiculously wonderful authors of the Edge Chronicles. We chatted how they write, how they met, why they do what they do. And very interesting they were too. Before I wandered off, to take my lonely 68 bus home, I took this beautiful photo of Philip Reeves, Chris, Paul, Deadly Knitshade and others with the rather delightful Plarchie the Squid, one of the other incumbents of the steampunk evening.
 |
| Chris, Paul, Philip, Knitshade, Someone. |
Welcome!!
Firstly, hello and welcome! This is my blog. Welcome to it :D
This will be a blog mostly about books, as you can probably tell by the title. My tastes mostly revolve around what is normally considered 'genre' fiction: Fantasy & Science Fiction. However, I'm doing an English Literature degree, I'll be dabbling in the 'literary', as well as a secret enjoyment of that much vaunted genre of 'lit-fic'. In fact, bugger it, why not go the whole hog and say I like books of any genre, so long as they are good.However, the fact still remains that we all have our 'home' genre, and mine is SFF.
This blog will probably focus on reviews and odd thoughts about books, literature, fiction and suchlike, with the odd throwaway comment about life at university, loving London, silly anecdotes and suchlike. If we get big enough, there might even be the odd giveaway!
Anyway, onwards, and enjoy :)
This will be a blog mostly about books, as you can probably tell by the title. My tastes mostly revolve around what is normally considered 'genre' fiction: Fantasy & Science Fiction. However, I'm doing an English Literature degree, I'll be dabbling in the 'literary', as well as a secret enjoyment of that much vaunted genre of 'lit-fic'. In fact, bugger it, why not go the whole hog and say I like books of any genre, so long as they are good.However, the fact still remains that we all have our 'home' genre, and mine is SFF.
This blog will probably focus on reviews and odd thoughts about books, literature, fiction and suchlike, with the odd throwaway comment about life at university, loving London, silly anecdotes and suchlike. If we get big enough, there might even be the odd giveaway!
Anyway, onwards, and enjoy :)
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